


Tuesdays at 10

by sassy_lesbian



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-11
Updated: 2013-08-13
Packaged: 2017-12-19 04:26:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/879439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sassy_lesbian/pseuds/sassy_lesbian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A kind of coffee shop AU. Delphine owns a popular patisserie and Cosima loves her some chocolate croissants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own. I just felt like writing something fluffy and sweet. Yes that's a pun. You're welcome.

10 am. You watch as the clock strikes the hour and your attention immediately snaps to the phone on your desk. It happens every Tuesday like clockwork:

At 10:05 the phone rings, you answer with a simple “Cormier’s Pâtisserie”, and take an order for 2 chocolate croissants. They are arguably your best selling item, though your pear tart offers some tight competition, but it’s not the order that’s caught your attention. It’s the woman that walks in every Tuesday at 10 past the hour, the way she saunters to the counter all cool confidence and Cheshire grin, to pick up her order. Cosima.

You’ve never spoken to her in person, only over the phone, and every day when she comes in you’ve already prepared her order and snuck out into the café, blending in with the customers for reasons you really don’t understand. It’s silly you think, foolish to hide from someone you’ve never met, someone who you know is already impressed by you, well, impressed by your cooking really, but you hide nonetheless. You’re intrigued and curious and for whatever reason you decide that means you need to sit back and observe rather than engage. You think it’s a self-preservation thing, perhaps, but deep down you know you’re just rationalizing to make yourself feel better.

10:06. Silence. You furrow your eyebrows as you stare at the phone on your desk, willing it to ring.

It doesn’t.

Maybe she’s sick today or running late, you can’t be sure (because you don’t actually know her) but regardless you make your way into the front of the shop, snagging a small paper box on your way to the front display and placing two chocolate croissants safely inside. Wishful thinking.

10:09. The phone has yet to ring. She’s not coming today.

You walk to the front of the shop and look down the street before looking hard at your watch.

10:10.

The phone rings. There’s a line of customers at the counter and your cashier is busy enough so you tell him not to worry and grab it yourself, “Cormier’s Pâtisserie.” You grab a pad from the counter and ready yourself to take an order, eyes flitting across the café.

“Hey, yeah, I’d like two chocolate croissants please.”

You breathe her name without thinking, the relief in your voice utterly embarrassing. Merde. 

“Uh, yeah, that’s me.” She chuckles. She’s letting it slide. You’ll take it. You give her her total and hang up, making your way to a table in the corner and sitting down right as the shop door opens, bell ringing overhead.

 

An amused Cosima walks to the counter and picks up her order, casually looking around, eyes falling on you briefly before being pulled back to your cashier. She pays and you think it’s over, that your embarrassment ends here but no, today she walks towards you, croissants in hand, smile firmly in place, and she says hello.

“Hey.”

It’s simple, but you’re finding it hard to breathe.

“Hi, hello,” you reply, awkward and tense. “May I help you?”

She sets her box on the table, cocks her head to the side. “You’re very clever,” she says, grinning like she knows she’s won.

“I’m afraid I don’t know…” You trail off, playing as dumb as possible despite the fact that you can feel yourself blushing.

“Cosima,” she extends her hand and you stare at it briefly before gripping it lightly.

“Delphine.”

Her smile broadens and it pulls a matching one from your lips.

“Sorry if I threw off your routine,” she begins, sitting down across from you. “I had to be sure I’d pegged you right before just crashing your table.”

She’s got you flustered. “Pegged? I don’t-“

She speaks again before you can finish, “You’re here every Tuesday, same as me. Sitting alone at the table in the corner, no food or drink. I thought maybe you were always waiting for someone but then I put two and two together and well… pegged.”

She opens the box and unceremoniously takes out a croissant, tearing off the corner and popping it into her mouth.

You’re too dumbfounded to speak.

“Why were you hiding?”

Her eyes narrow as she waits for your reply, though there is no malice in them, only genuine curiosity.

“I wasn’t,” you begin, unsure of how to answer without making yourself look like more of a fool. “I am just better with dough than I am with people.”

It’s honest enough – you’re better at making pastries than you are at making friends – and Cosima seems to find it endearing if the softening in her eyes tells you anything.

“Well you’re amazing with dough,” she says, holding up her croissant for emphasis. “These guys are killer.”

You offer a bashful thank you, head tilted down, trying and failing to hide the ridiculously large smile on your face.

She laughs.

Your eyes make a quick pass over the café to the counter and you realize the line is too long. Your face falls.

“I should probably,” you tilt your head in the direction of the counter. She gets it. Her smile falters.

“Oh, yeah, of course.”

“Um, next Tuesday,” you nod toward the box once again in her hand. “They’re on me.”

She smiles. “Okay. Awesome.”

“And maybe a coffee too.”

She nods, her smile wide and genuine. Yours is identical.

You make your way to the counter, looking over your shoulder as you go, making note of the fact that she waits until you’re helping a customer to slip out the door.

“Hi,” you greet the woman in line. “What can I get you?”

You can’t wait til next Tuesday.

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Next tuesday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got several requests to write a follow up chapter and this is what I came up with. I'll probably write at least one more as well so... yeah. Unbeta'd. All mistakes are mine.

It’s 10 am. Your palms are sweaty and you’ve been in and out of the bathroom 6 times in the last ten minutes to double check your hair in the mirror. It’s the way you like it, tousled, swept kind of across and back, but you pass your hand through it again because you have to keep busy or you’ll start to panic.

You’ve been on dates before, and most of them have gone fairly well, but you’re not entirely sure this _is_ a date despite the fact that it absolutely feels like one. What is a date really if not a decision to meet a person at a specific place and time in order to get to know one another? Yep, the word date may not have been spoken but that’s definitely what this is.

You end up back in your office staring at the clock on your desk and worrying the nail of your index finger between your teeth. Your father had always scolded you for that when you were younger but it hadn’t ever stuck.

With a deep breath you steel yourself, releasing your nail and running your hands over your skirt to smooth it even though it’s far from wrinkled. “Okay,” you breathe, nodding as you give yourself a mental pep talk. “Okay.”

You put on a smile and walk to the counter, smiling and nodding at customers you know as regulars, and grab a box before you realize that today Cosima’s order will be served on plates. Smiling, you grab two fresh croissants from the warmer by the oven and plate them expertly, carefully balancing them in one hand while grabbing yourself a coffee.

“You need some help with that?”

You freeze when you hear her voice, not realizing she’d arrived but you manage to keep your cool as you turn to face her.

“Bonjour, Cosima,” you offer, extending the plates to her. “If you, um, take these I’ll get you a coffee?”

“Yeah, sure, of course.” She carefully takes the plates from your hand and heads to your table, grinning as she watches you walk over.

“I’m not sure how you take it but I left room for… whatever, if you want.”

You set her cup down in front of her before sitting down yourself, taking a painfully hot sip of your own coffee in an effort to hide the smile on your face.

“Oh, it’s totally fine, I take mine black too-” she says, eyes narrowing as she takes in your somewhat pained expression. “Did you just burn your tongue?”

You can’t help the embarrassed laugh that escapes your lips as you set your coffee on the table and you nod in response. “You’d think I would know how hot my own coffee is but, I guess not.”

Cosima smiles wider.

“Yeah, no, don’t even worry. I do it all the time at home. Usually with soup though,” she lowers her voice. “I like to make the like, 99 cent ramen and I always burn the shit out of my tongue. Can’t argue with the munchies man.”

You laugh along with her, content in the fact that she seems to be as much of a mess as you are. “I have never,” you pause, raising your eyebrows as you gesture awkwardly with your head, hoping she’ll get the point.

“Smoked pot.”

You nod. “These munchies sound… interesting.”

Cosima’s grin is broad and toothy, like she should be laughing but instead she’s looking at you like she’s never seen anything cuter in her life. You feel yourself blushing.

“Well, maybe we should remedy that.”

Her tone is suddenly serious and the amusement you’d found in her eyes just seconds before has vanished completely leaving behind something best described as predatory. You like it.

“Okay,” you breathe. “Maybe.”

You offer a smile and it breaks through the tension clouding the air between you, Cosima’s attention returning to her croissant as she tears off a large chunk and chases it with a sip of coffee.

“So tell me,” she begins. “Delphine…” she lingers on your name and god does it sound good on her tongue. “How does one get into the pastry business?”

“Well, my father had a Pâtisserie back home so, I suppose I just grew up with it.”

You knew she was expecting some grand story about some serendipitous discovery of your passion for pastries but the fact was you’d had your father’s recipes memorized since you were seven. You’d never known anything else.

“Very cool,” she replies, nodding approvingly. “You father has taught you well.”

“Yes,” you agree. “But if you think my croissants are good-“ you let out an impressed breath.

“No way,” Cosima is in awe and you can’t help but feel a little smug that it’s directed at you.

“Way. Mine are not even half as good.”

“Okay now I know you’re lying,” she teases. “No way there is something that much better than this in existence.” She pops the last bit of the croissant in her mouth to prove her point. You share a laugh.

Your eyes meet across the table, smiles holding as you briefly, cautiously take each other in and if it weren’t for her phone nearly vibrating off the table you’re pretty sure you would’ve had a bit of a moment.

“Shit.” She jumps a bit as she moves to silence it, the sound of it startling her.

“It’s oka-“

“Shit!”

She looks at you apologetically as she quickly knocks back the rest of her coffee. “I’m late for office hours,” she explains as she gathers herself, her things. “So, so sorry but I gotta, I gotta go.”

“It’s okay,” you offer a second time. “You have a class?”

“Uh, yeah,” she replies, standing. “I’m, um, TAing a class. That I’m late for. Now. But I’ll, I’ll call you. Here?”

You nod. “Sure.”

“Okay, um, okay.” She looks at you for a moment, moving like she’s not sure whether to shake your hand or hug you or what exactly she should do but she leans in anyway and to your surprise her lips land on your cheek.

“Okay, bye.”

She’s still smiling as she makes her way out the door and you smile right along with her. You’d say next Tuesday couldn’t come fast enough, but something’s telling you you won’t have to wait that long this time.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tuesday's not your favorite day anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are mine. This is it (I think) for this part of the story though I'll probably add some oneshot type chapters within this AU every now and then. Hope you enjoy!

Fridays and Saturdays you close early, giving your close knit and hard working staff more weekend hours free to relax and enjoy themselves. It’s nice, you think, for those with social lives. You’ve been closed for thirty minutes and your shift manager has finally left, leaving you alone in your office to go over the days books but for the first time since the day you opened the patisserie you’re doing it with a smile on your face.

It had only taken an hour for you to finish up your daily review and you’d happily gone on your way, making it home in time to shower and change before heading out to meet Cosima.

She’d called on Wednesday morning apologizing for running out the day before and immediately offering to make it up to you. “You can come to my place,” she’d offered. “Then you know I won’t have anywhere to run off to.”

You’d agreed, having no reasons not to, and that’s where you find yourself now, standing cautiously outside her door hands wringing in front of you as you build up the courage to knock.

“Shit.”

Your forehead creases as you hear Cosima swear somewhere inside, your knocking apparently more of a surprise than you’d thought. You glance at your watch and note that you’re precisely on time.

The door opens and you look down to see a slightly flustered Cosima looking up at you, dreadlocks up in a bun and glasses slightly askew. “Hey,” she offers. “Sorry. I’m, not used to company.”

“Oh, it’s okay. I’m not exactly a…” you pause, trying to think of the proper term. “Social butterfly either.”

You laugh awkwardly as you take in your surroundings. It’s a cozy studio type layout with the kitchen/entry/living area separated by a large open doorway from the bedroom. It suits her, you think, somehow. You barely know her, know nothing about her really, but this is most definitely her space.

“Can I?” She reaches out, gesturing towards your jacket that’s stuck halfway down your arms and you tug it the rest of the way off, muttering a thank you when she takes it and lays it over the back of a chair.

“You have a lovely home,” you say with a smile. “It’s, um, very… you.”

“Thanks,” she replies, eyeing you carefully before breaking into a smile. “Um, so, I figured we could order Chinese. If you’re cool with that. I didn’t know what you liked so I, I waited.”

“That would be fine, great.”

The awkwardness in the room is something you could do without, but you’re not sure how to alleviate it and instead settle for standing silently while Cosima rummages through some papers on her desk.

“Aha, okay, so-“ She holds up the menu triumphantly before unfolding it and laying it on her desk, gesturing for you to join her. “I’ve tried everything on here at least once. We could order a couple of entrees, some sides, go from there?”

She looks up at you as you approach her side, invading her personal space as you lean down, one arm bracing yourself on her desk, to look at the menu. You scan it quickly and decide not to decide, after all, her taste in food is important to you. “Why don’t you pick your favorites,” you suggest, looking down your shoulder to meet her eyes. “You like my croissants so much, I trust your taste.”

“Wow. Pressure. Okay.”

She’s grinning. You smile back.

She narrows her eyes and grabs her phone and you notice it only takes one press of a button for her to call out. She’s got them on speed dial. She walks to the other end of the room while she orders and you busy yourself looking over the books on one of her shelves.

Science. It’s all science. There are books on anatomy and physiology, biology, chemistry, forensics, anything even remotely pertaining to a scientific field is shelved somewhere in this room. You shake your head in disbelief; she's a complete nerd. And you love it.

“Hey Delphine…”

You turn around to find Cosima leaning against her desk, a joint dangling betwixt her thumb and forefinger. Your jaw drops. You’re speechless.

“Oh, god,” she panics at the look on your face. “Delphine. Totally just a suggestion, you don’t have- I shouldn’t have offered.”

“No,” you try and stop her but you can’t really get a word in. “No, no, no. It’s okay, it’s okay, really.”

She stops rambling to look at you all doe eyed and apologetic.

“I just,” you take a moment to think, making sure you don’t say anything to offend her. “Wasn’t expecting it.”

“Oh. Oh…”

“Thank you, but um, none for me. Uh, you go ahead, though. I don’t mind.”

“Oh, no, it’s cool. Totally cool. I’ll just…” She nods towards her room and waves the joint at you, quickly disappearing, you assume, to replace it with the rest of her stash.

You’re smiling when she reappears, the apprehension in her face vanishing at the sight. “Totally sorry,” she offers again.

You laugh. “Next time.”

“Yeah?”

“Oui. Munchies and all.”

Cosima laughs, full and hearty and you’re pretty sure it’s the greatest thing you’ve ever heard.

* * *

It takes about 20 minutes for your food to arrive and you spend it making small talk, Cosima tells you about her studies and you tell her how you ended up in Minnesota. It’s all going well until you ask about her family.

“Oh, um, I’m from San Fran so, parents are still there,” she offers, reaching across to steal a bite of the Kung Pao Chicken in front of you.

“No siblings?”

“I’m um, my parents couldn’t uh, couldn’t have kids so, they did in vitro for me. I guess one was enough.”

You can tell she’s uncomfortable so you let the subject drop, deciding to go back to the safety of food instead.

“This is really good,” you mumble around a mouthful of Szechwan Beef, pointing at the container with your chopsticks.

She laughs and reaches up to wipe some sauce from the corner of your mouth. You blush but refuse to shy away form the contact, willing yourself not to react but failing miserably when she unconsciously brings her thumb to her own mouth and licks it clean.

You swallow hard.

“You okay?”

You realize you’re staring.

“Do I have something,” she gestures at her own face, imploring you with her eyes.

“Non,” you shake your head. “Sorry, I, uh, zoned out.”

 

You finish the rest of your meal in an awkward but somehow comfortable silence, glancing at each other and sharing slight smiles like schoolgirls flirting during class.

“Thank you,” you offer, eyes following Cosima as she gathers your trash and throws it in a bin. “I had a great time.”

She turns to you, a look of surprise mixed with disappointment flashing across her face. “Oh, yeah, me too. Do you, um, have an early morning?”

“No.”

You shake your head, confusion settling into your features.

“Oh, sorry, I just assumed, if you have to go-“

“I don’t have to go.”

You interrupt her, reaching out to still one of her wildly gesturing hands as you do, gripping her forearm lightly. You both seem to realize your proximity at the same time though neither of you makes a move to change it.

It’s the first time you really notice how much shorter she is than you, standing there, looking down at her looking up at you.

Her eyes leave yours and you follow their direction. She’s looking at where your hand is on her arm, your thumb idly stroking the skin just below the sleeve of her sweater.  You stop.

Cosima’s eyes flick back to your face and you meet them with your own, your mouth open, unable to find any words befitting of the moment. But you don’t need them. Her lips are on yours in an instant, soft and enticing, and you react instantly, eyes fluttering shut as you return the kiss.

Your arms slip around her waist, hers around your neck, and any thoughts you might have had stirring are wiped from your mind with the flick of her tongue against your lips.

Tuesday’s not your favorite day anymore. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mornings are the sweetest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are mine. I just can't walk away from this apparently. Sorry if the characterization slips a bit, this may almost be too fluffy for my own good. Idk.

Slow languid kisses are your favorite. Yes, something can be said for rushed, passionate, heated kisses too, but there’s something about feeling like you have all the time in the world that just does it for you. There’s no necessity, no need to move on or wrap things up, no point other than wanting to feel someone’s lips on your own, against your skin. There’s sweetness there, honesty in the time someone takes to kiss you, to completely thoroughly kiss you.

Yeah, slow languid kisses are your favorite, especially when you wake up to Cosima pressing them down your back.

Her lips follow your spine, moving slow and deliberate with a gentleness not meant to arouse but to comfort. Your eyes may have briefly fluttered open but they slip shut again as you relax under her touch.

She feels the change in your breathing and places a single kiss to the middle of your back before shifting back up your body to kiss your shoulder.

“You awake,” she asks nuzzling into your neck.

You hum your response as her lips find the skin just below your ear and you reach back blindly in search of her hand. She smiles against your skin and places her hand in yours, letting you pull her arm over your middle and bring her hand to your lips. You brush a kiss over her knuckles before tucking her hand under your chin and settle back against her as she makes herself your big spoon.

“You okay?”

Her lips are on your shoulder again and you smile even though she can’t see it. You press another kiss to her hand and turn a little in her arms, shifting just enough that you can look over your shoulder and meet her eyes, answering her with a whispered, “yes”.

Her eyes sparkle as she smiles back at you and you feel her fingers start playing with your own against your chest. She’s absolutely radiant in the morning.

Her fingers leave yours and trail up your neck, her thumb tracing your jaw, and the smile you’re sharing gives way to a sweet good morning kiss.

You exhale a simple “Hi” as she pulls away, a soft “Hey” escaping her lips in response. You shift again, onto your back, and she helps you move your arm so she can drape herself over you, settling her head comfortably against your chest. One of your hands rests on her back, just above her hip, the other trails lightly up and down her arm. It feels better than you’d ever thought it could and you let out a sigh.

She tilts her head up and smiles at you, places a soft kiss to your chest.

“Did you sleep alright,” she asks, placing another kiss an inch below the first.

You watch as she slowly kisses her way down your body, nodding along with your answer, “Oui.”

She smiles against your skin and your own smile widens. She kisses you again, just above your belly button, and the sound she’s met with makes you cover your face in embarrassment. Your stomach gurgles and you feel your face burning up, Cosima’s amused laughter doing nothing to make you feel better.

“Work up an apetite,” she teases, reaching up to pull your hands from your face.

You roll your eyes but wrap your arms around her anyway.

“If you’re hungry there’s this awesome little French bakery down the street, best chocolate croissants in the world.”

“I think I know it,” you reply, keeping the straightest face you can given the circumstances.

“You do?”

“Oui, I know the owner.”

“Oh.”

Cosima’s eyes flash. Mischief.

“Well maybe,” She continues, pressing deliciously closer. “If I’m really nice, she’ll treat us to breakfast.”

She’s kissing her way down your neck and even though you find her antics amusing you can’t bring yourself to laugh, not with the way her teeth are grazing your pulse point. She sucks gently at your neck, enough for you to feel it but not enough to leave a mark.

“Hmm…”

You take a moment to consider your options. Not whether or not to feed yourself and Cosima but whether or not to actually leave the comfort of her bed.

“You are very nice.”

She presses another kiss to your neck.

“I think maybe you will get something out of it.”

She lifts her head, “Oh really?”

“Oui, c’est vrai.”

She hums and waggles her eyebrows, slowly drawing back from you. “Okay.”

 

* * *

 

 

Remarkably it doesn’t take long for the two of you to dress and head out the door. You walk down the street hand in hand, Cosima pressed into your side for the duration of the ten minutes it takes to reach the door of your Patisserie.

“You know I’ve never come here _not_ for work before,” you whisper as she slips past you and inside.

The look you get in return is a mixture of surprise and amusement but you don’t get to look for long because Cosima’s hand is back in yours, tugging you towards the counter. She stops at the counter and your cashier stares at the two of you, wondering if he should treat you like his boss or a customer. You make the decision for him, dragging Cosima behind you as you slip behind the counter as you would on any other day.

“Come,” you beckon as she resists, not wanting to pass by the warmer without snagging a croissant or two first.

“But…” She reaches behind her, pout in place as you pull her down the hall, past your office, and into the kitchen.

“Cosima, sit.”

You gesture towards a stool by the wall and she does as commanded, looking around the kitchen in awe.

You wash your hands quickly and pull on your hair net, grabbing some chilled dough from the fridge. It’s been awhile since you’ve baked in small quantities but you quickly do the math in your head as you tie on an apron, measuring out the other ingredients by memory.

Cosima chuckles.

“There are already, like, a dozen of those in the warmer you know.”

“I know,” you reply, smiling knowingly. “But these will be better.”

She eyes you skeptically for a moment before replying, “You don’t really make those other croissants do you? You’ve been lying to me this whole time.”

There is accusation in her voice but it’s outweighed by playfulness.

“Non, it is my recipe but I don’t really like coming in at 3 every morning to prepare it.”

“Oh, god no. Yeah, totally see your point.” She concedes easily enough.

You cut the dough and begin the process of making a chocolate croissant, mixing up a small amount of filling and placing it perfectly, rolling and shaping the croissants on a baking tray.

“Holy shit, Delphine, those look delicious.”

You grin. “Remember, I told you my father’s are better?”

Cosima nods.

“This is his recipe.”

You head over to the ovens across the room and slide the tray inside, Cosima hovering over you.

“I’m impressed,” she says, wrapping her arms around your neck.

She leans up for a kiss but you stop her, instead leading her into the hallway.

“Now you may kiss me.”

She laughs. “No, sorry, moment’s gone. Passed, completely.”

“Cosima.”

“Hmm?”

“Health codes.”

You bite your lip, trying not to laugh as realization dawns on her.

“Oh. Right, duh, health codes. No kissing in the kitchen. Got it.”

You can’t help yourself and have a little laugh at her expense. Lucky for you she takes it like a champ, waving her hands at you dismissively, the smile never leaving her face. She takes matters into her own hands to shut you up, cupping your face and kissing you repeatedly.

“I have to go back in,” you tell her, extracting yourself from her groping hands. “Go find a table.”

 

When you emerge from the back your eyes instantly scan the café, finding Cosima seated at your usual table in the corner, two cups of coffee ready and waiting.

“I hope you don’t mind,” she says with a shrug. “I kinda helped myself.”

You slide an expertly plated croissant in front of her and wave her off, “I do it all the time.”

You share a smile and watch, pleased, as Cosima takes in the pastry in front of her. It’s fresh from the oven, chocolate neraly molten inside, and you caution her against sinking her teeth in directly.

“I would tear it,” You suggest, pulling the corner from your own.

Cosima follows suit and her eyes widen as the steam rises from the inside.

“Totally trying not to dork out over how amazing this looks,” she says, holding the piece up and examining it through her glasses.

You’ve already taken a bite of your own, and you watch as Cosima finally pops a piece into her mouth.

“Shit,” she mumbles as she chews. “This is… how? I mean, how, what’s different in these that’s not in the others?”

She’s looking at you so intently, so genuinely curious, but all you can think is how absolutely adorable she is with chocolate on the corner of her mouth.

“If I told you,” you reach across the table and wipe the chocolate away with your thumb. “I’d have to kill you.”

You suck the tip of your thumb into your mouth, never breaking eye contact, and you see her visibly swallow.

“I think you just did.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cosima gets Delphine high and they both get the munchies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was prompted by TypeyTypeyTypey on tumblr like 2 weeks ago and I finally got around to writing it. Hope you enjoy.

“I don’t think I feel it.”

You’re laying spread eagle on your bed, naked, with Cosima’s head resting on your stomach. She laughs, breath hot against your skin.

“Oh really?” Her eyes dart over to the ashtray by your lamp and the butt of your shared blunt.

You hum an affirmative but it feels weird in your mouth, sounds different than usual. You hum again, this time trying a different inflection. It feels funny, the way your throat vibrates. Is that really how vocal cords work? You think about asking Cosima but when you manage to lift your head she’s already looking at you and the amused concern in her eyes is the most adorable thing you’ve ever seen. You lose it, giggling for god knows how long because what even is time anymore and the fact that Cosima is just watching you, completely unperturbed, only serves to make things worse.

“You done,” she asks when your fit finally subsides.

“Yes,” you manage, hand trying to hide the smile still plastered on your face.

“Good.”

You watch as she climbs out of bed, walking stark naked to your kitchen, and suddenly you find yourself stumbling after her.

“Cosima,” you call across the room. She turns. “What are you doing?”

Instead of a reply she moves to your cupboards, opening them one at a time until she finds what she’s looking for. You watch her through barely open eyes as she pulls out sugar, flour and chocolate and it takes you a minute but you finally realize what’s going on: she’s hungry. And so are you.

“Cupcakes,” you declare, surging forward and moving Cosima out of the way. “I will make you cupcakes.”

“Delphine?”

You hear her say your name but you’re too focused on finding other ingredients to acknowledge her at the moment.

“Delphine,” she says again, the laughter barely hidden behind her smile. “Do you want some help?”

She’s far more sober than you, of that you can be sure (she made sure you smoked a majority of the blunt, plus her tolerance is ridiculous after so many years of use), but you’re determined to prove you’re not as much of a lightweight as you appear. You try and force yourself into sobriety, eyes straining to open wider as you grab bowls and ingredients and lay them out haphazardly.

“Merde.”

You swear out loud as you stare down at yourself, naked in your own kitchen. You turn and rummage through a drawer, finding an apron and slipping it over your head with a satisfied grin.

Cosima regards you from where she’s leaning against the counter and the hunger you see in her eyes sends a chill down your spine. That’s one way to sober up.

You go about your business, mixing this, adding that, pausing every so often to admire the ingredients as you combine them.

“Science is so… beautiful,” you declare, staring down into the bowl, watching as the dry ingredients mix with the wet to become a glorious batter. “It’s so many things, but then it’s just one.” You look up at Cosima and can’t fight the smile that spreads across your face, mirroring hers. “You must feel like this often.”

She laughs softly and nods her head, her answer a simple, “yeah.”

“Taste,” you command, dipping your finger into the bowl and holding it up as Cosima sidles up to you. You hold her eyes as she sucks your finger into her mouth, tongue sweeping the batter from your skin. You’ve never been more turned on in your life. It takes you a moment, once she’s returned to her perch, for you to remember what you were doing but you pull yourself together and get the first batch in the oven.

When you turn around Cosima is hovering over the bowl, finger scooping up unused batter on it’s way to her mouth.

“I’m going to use that,” you scold, attempting to shoo her away but the batter on her finger finds your face and neck instead of her mouth and you stop in your tracks. You stare at Cosima for a moment, mouth open in shock. She just smirks and leans forward, her tongue making it’s way along your jaw, gathering the batter smeared there just seconds before. You know what she’s doing and your eyes narrow, “You are such a brat.”

“Am I?”

Her words are muffled against your throat and you try to respond but between the weed and your growing arousal you can’t remember how to formulate words. You lose yourself for a moment, enthralled by her touch, and when you finally come back to yourself you’re sitting on the kitchen table, Cosima standing between your knees, making out in nothing but your apron. 

She kisses you slowly, almost like the first time, her tongue exploring your mouth as her hands explore your body. It feels like hours are passing as her lips map your neck and your eyes keep flicking over to the oven, worried you’ll miss the buzzer and burn your snack.

“Stop,” she mumbles, drawing your attention back. “You’ll hear it. It’s fine.”

“Hmm.”

She pulls back, though not too far, and looks you in the eyes, “You’re being paranoid.”

“I am not,” you counter, but your eyes travel back to the oven timer against your will.

“Oh yeah, obvs.”

You can hear the sarcasm in her voice but your eyes remain fixated on the timer, curiously moving slower than you think time should.

* * *

When the oven finally beeps it feels as if no time at all has passed – thanks mostly to Cosima’s distraction of eating you out on your kitchen table – and you practically glide to the oven to remove your perfectly risen cupcakes. You set them out to cool and put the second tray in the oven, setting the timer and promptly ignoring it in favor of the woman waiting patiently for you on the counter. You step into her arms and meet her lips with a smile.

“Can I have one,” she asks when your kisses drop to her neck.

“Oui, but they must cool first.”

“Are they better cool?”

You pull away, eyes narrowing, “I cannot frost them until they are cool.”

“So, what you’re saying is, I can have one now without frosting and one later with frosting?”

“You are-“

“A brat, I know. Feed me?”

You roll your eyes but grab a cupcake for her anyway because really, you’d never deny her anything. Her eyes light up as you peel back the wrapper in front of her, breaking off a small piece and holding it to her lips. She takes it from you, humming happily as she chews, and you take a bite yourself, reveling in your handiwork.

“Delphine,” Cosima mumbles around another bite of cupcake. “You know what would make these even better?”

Your brow furrows, didn’t she like them?

“If we put the weed _in_ the cupcakes. I’ll totally make you some butter to cook with.”

She nods triumphantly and you throw the wrapper at her face, “You are trouble, Cosima.”

“But you wouldn’t have me any other way.”


End file.
